


Better Than Me

by GypsyMoon88



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dany POV, Dark! Jon, Dickon is alive, Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Jealousy, Multi, Regret, Resentment, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Unhappy marriage, Unrequited Love, happy Sansa endgame, jealous Daenerys, jon messed up bigly and he knows it, period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 05:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12698346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyMoon88/pseuds/GypsyMoon88
Summary: The Wolf Queen is getting married to Dickon Tarly and while Jon laments at the missed opportunity, Dany muses on the Lady Wolf and realizes that maybe, perhaps the Red Wolf is better than her...





	Better Than Me

**Better Than Me**

****

The news had been swift and jolting, all of Westerosi celebrating the herald with utmost jubilation and joy. The beloved Wolf Queen of the North was to be married--to Dickon Tarly of the Reach. At the precise moment the ravens arrived South, Jon Snow--no, he was Aegon Targaryen now--felt as though he were in an incubus, some horrid nightmare from which he was unable to wake. He could not breathe, all air constricted of him. The Stranger reaching into his chest and seizing his heart in its unforgiving vise and gripping. 

No...No. This could not be and yet...it was. She had moved on--Sansa Stark--had moved on, moved on  _ away  _ from him, and Jon knew that he alone was culpable. He deserved it. He deserved it all.

His advisers had brought the news first. Davos had been repentant and careful; Tyron, his wife's Hand, solicitous and contrite, his eyes soft and downcast. Even Varys, the loathed Spider and Master of Whispers had the decency to look reproachful and abashed at the unexpected news. All three men knew of their king's unrequited love for his cousin, once-believed-sister. 

It was an open secret all felt privy to. The only one unsuspecting was perhaps the king himself. Only his wife, the silver-haired Dragon Queen, remained exultant, her lavender eyes haughty and righteous, no doubt reveling in her husband's heartbreak. She was no fool, Queen Daenerys. She had known all along of her husband's affection for his cousin, the beautiful Wolf Queen. Even within those intimate moments alone within his lord's chambers upon their arrival to Winterfell, Dany had known her husband's heart was never hers alone, despite his protests and fervent denials of otherwise.

_ "She is my sister, Dany. My blood. The love I have for her is different and but a mere flame for the burning I hold for you. You need not be jealous for she is no threat. I am yours wholly and completely."� _

****

__ For a moment, a brief interlude, Dany had been pacified, her raging jealousy and envy quietened and cooled. She had never been good at competition and sharing was an act that was both unknown and alien to her. Â Besides, she was queen of the Six Kingdoms, after granting the North its independence at her husband's behest.  Who was she to share? Jon was an honorable man, but more--much, much more importantly than that--he was  _ hers.  _

_A_ ye, for a moment she had been temporarily mollified, but yet the illusion and pretense did not last. She could not forget the way Jon's eyes hooded whenever his grey gaze followed the Lady of Winterfell about the halls, unconcealed and open, akin to a child longing for that which had been denied of him. Not once, Daenerys was quick to note, had Jon ever looked upon her with the same open longing and yearning. Perhaps once, but fleeting. A candle's flicker in the night. 

   The White Wolf (Dany absolutely _loathed_ the title, for it made his ties to the North all the more enduring.) was not alone in his admiration of the Lady Stark. While the rest of the Northern lords and knights of the Vale treated the Dragon Queen with cold formality and forced deference, they all admired and loved the Red Wolf, their eyes looking their fill whenever she passed the halls, her hair of molten copper and fire streaming behind her like a banner. The halls erupting in rallying cries and cheers whenever she supped with them at dinner instead of the high table with the traitorous King in the North and his foreign queen. 

Despite Jon's protests, Dany knew she was a stranger in their eyes, an interloper in a foreign land. Jon had warned her that the Northern lords were loyal to their own, already relations between him and the other houses had thawed considerably upon his return, his betrayal a slap in the face to all King Robb had sacrificed and died for.  He was now as much an outsider as she. He had told her that he had not cared, their derision and disdain meaningless.

That the love he held for her transcended beyond all caring. But it was all a lie. She knew better, knew his family's estrangement had bothered him greatly. Worse yet, that he resented her for it. For making him choose. Queen Daenerys was never what Jon Snow wanted. No, it was his cousin all along. Only his honor prevented him from seeing it.

While Dany inspired fear and forced loyalty through her unbridled rage and dragons, Sansa inspired hope, goodness, and the promise of bright, unadulterated beginnings. She was what songs were made for.  _ She  _ was who soldiers would gladly sacrifice and give their life blood for. Not her--not Daenerys Stormborn.

Even Tyrion Lannister could not quell the lust and yearning that had befallen upon him every time he beheld his former wife. She had been a mere slip of a girl then, the last time he had seen her all those years past. A great beauty, yes, but stupid and naïve. A fledgling dove trying to fly under the oppressive weight of his family's tyranny and abuse. Timid, uncertain, and scared.

There was none of that now. The timidity was gone and in its place was something harder, more polished, and formidable. The dove was gone and the wolf now emerged. Â Sansa Stark was now the embodiment and incarnation of the beast on her ancient house's sigil. 

The Dragons may have their fire, but the Wolves had cunning. And in this unending game of wits and intrigue, cunning always topped brute strength. Always. Daenerys knew that she was no match for Sansa Stark. Perhaps she had always known it. The game she had thought she had all but won  was now rendered forfeit. The pretty dreams of spring reduced to that of nothingness and false illusions. 

She had lost Tyrion, her once loyal and most dedicated Hand, to the Wolf Bitch's influence, as with half the realm. And now, it seemed that Daenerys had lost Jon. Jon who she had once thought to be her equal, whose vision and ambition once matched her own. He had been the ice to her fire; her counterpart and balance. Her Azor Ahai to his Nissa Nissa. 

That's what the prophecies affirmed, what the red priestesses of Asshai had promised. That the meeting of ice and fire had been foretold in the flames and would bring forth a golden era and age of prosperity and unity. But now, it was all Daenerys could do to scoff at the farcicality. 

Lies. All of it. Manifested culminations of the fanatical and zealous. Everyone loved a pretty song. It was only after the song ended and the music ceased that reality lingered. There was no golden age. No lasting prosperity.

Jon never loved her, not truly. She had been but a novelty to him, a brief, fleeting burst of color contrasted against dismal greys and muted tones. All shadows and vapors. There was nothing substantial between them, only a fading, accursed name and a splintering kingdom on the brink of ruin. /span>

Her dragons were all dead, lost in the War for the Dawn, and there was no more magic. Nothing left to tether him to her any longer. Dany knew that now. As it were, Jon barely visited her bed and only did so when he was deep in his cups. He hated her, resented her for his grave error. For choosing that which was shiny and new-- _ unsustainable _ \-- over that which was steadfast and enduring. His irrational decision forever severing all former ties in the North. 

His heart, as with every Northern lord's, belonged to the Wolf Bitch, a queen in all but name. And now, she was getting married to a young lordling of the Reach, Dickon Tarly. Jon had been incensed upon hearing the news, when the connection had been made. He ranted and raved, his dragon's blood, once thought dormant and quiescent, surging and ever present. He had ordered his once best friend, Sam, from the hall and out of his sight, deeming the rotund maester a traitor, for Dickon had been his younger brother.

Daenerys watched the scene unfold at a distance, impassive and apathetic. While Davos and Tyrion had tried to bridle their king's rage and apologize for his irrationality, Dany remained cool and detached, relishing every moment. She did not care any longer.

She did not care if her husband and king no longer loved her. (Did he ever, truly?) She did not care if she lost the respect and admiration of her advisors and people. (She never had it initially but only a false queen in their eyes.) 

She had lost the game. A game she had been so sure to win. Had lost it to the flame-haired Wolf of the North whose mere name inspired such steadfast loyalty and devotion to all who heard it.

And now, the Red Wolf was marrying a young lord--a love match, no doubt--who would love her fiercely and protect her with all that was within him. Promising her all that Jon had failed to fulfill. Yet another sting and harsh blow to the Dragon Queen's crumbling foundation.

Before her fall, it was rumored that Queen Cersei had heard a prophecy from a witch sheltering upon her father's lands. An exchange of blood and three wishes given, as was the bargain. She had been told that she would marry not a prince but a king, that she would be a mother to three children--only to watch them die in quick succession. 

Dany jolted, her mind reeling. When she had married Jon, he had been the Prince that was Promised, a title that the Red Witch, Melisandre, had bestowed upon him, and later King in the North. Then, the children had come--three born between them. Yet, all had been grossly misshapen and malformed, monsters born out of incest and the accursed Targaryen blood of Old Valyria. None had made it past infancy before the Stranger claimed them in the night. 

More importantly, the prophetess foretold that Cersei would be queen of the realm...only to fall to someone better.

_"_ _...Oh yes, you will be queen. For a time. Then comes another. Younger, more beautiful, to Â come to cast you down and take all you hold dear..."� _

Dany turned her head, her eyes watching the flames flicker and dance before her. Red like the Wolf Queen's hair...Red like fire. Everything she saw was red.

The game was lost to her. There was no use in pretending. Perhaps it was never truly the Dragon Queen's to win. Perhaps she was just biding her time and waiting...waiting for the inevitable when her reign ended, crashing and careening down all around her in nothing save dust and ash. 

Until the formidable Wolf Queen rose up to cast her down. It was only right, Dany supposed. She had taken Jon away from her, had mocked the other woman's tears and grief. It was only right for her to seek retribution and get her vengeance. Unbeknownst to her, Sansa had already gotten it. She had the North's love and devotion, the realm's fealty and support. The admiration of both her former and future husband. And Jon's heart. 

****

She had won it all, leaving Daenerys with nothing save bitterness and dust.. Nothing save resentment and envy. Sansa had played a great game, Dany conceded. She had always been better.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I don't know where this manifested from. I sincerely apologize if it seems nonsensical and all over the place. It is most definitely NOT my best work and is due to my ongoing battle with accursed writer's block.


End file.
